West Side Tabbies

CHAPTER 1

My name is Dicky, and I’m on life nine. I’m a Westside Tabby in this po-dunk town called Winters. I ain’t exactly a full Tabby neither. Half Bengal cat to tell ya the truth, but my crew don’t judge too harsh on species. Besides, they seen what I do to cats when the claws come out – especially those Railroad Avenue Ragdolls. Er’ the Rags is what we call em’. Prissy sons o’ bitches.

I hobo’d it into town on a train in my first life (I was a full Tabby then, ya see) in 1900, and spent every life here since. I seen a lotta changes in this town. Orchards grow in one life then cut down in the next to make room for houses. Hell, I remember seein’ the railroad get shut down too. But I wasn’t goin’ nowhere anyway. A cat could start a litter here. Ain’t got too many coyotes, plenty of rodents for eatin’, birds for entertainin’, and the humans – er’ humes - ain’t bad here either.

Yea, these days I got a hume-fam that I let take care of me. The Buckleys. Them is good humes. My humes. Cat’s gotta have one to keep from goin’ feral, ya see. I’ve lived the feral life once. It’s rough – got my back leg eatin’ by a coyote, had a colony of fleas livin’ on my ass, n’ lost my eye in a scrap to name a few mishaps. Eventually got ran over by a milk truck. Weren’t my fault, he caught me on my blind side, ya see. Never saw em’ comin’ - obviously. Point is, I live a happy medium of inside n’ outside. I ain’t got nothin’ to prove to no cat, so go ahead, call me an insider, just don’t call me no Rag. Prissy sons o’ bitches. I’d rather be a Rag than a Stray I suppose. At least Rags chose a side.

Goin’ feral is addicting, though. Primal. Somethin’ of an ultimate, care-free life. Killin’ when ya wanna, goin’ where ya wanna, sprayin’ where ya wanna. It’s wide-eyed freedom, ya see. A cat can get lost in it if they ain’t careful – spends your lives up real quick. Luckily, I bonded to the humes before gettin’ hooked beyond return. It was more like a choice, and I’ve been clean of it ever since. The dose of feral-life I had still haunts me a little. Teasin’ me even, beggin’ me to turn feral again. Ain’t gonna happen, cause if it did, nature would keep me that way for good this time.

Besides, there ain’t NOTHIN’ like a good scratchin’ post and a whiff o’ nip on a rainy day. I’ve perfected gettin’ in good with humes over the years too. Key is to get em’ to notice you. Gotta act scared at first, then act curious. Make em’ think they’re growin’ on ya. Let em’ feed ya a treat. Use kids to your advantage, too. Let em’ pet ya and get in good with them cause they’ll tug their parents’ heart strings when you ain’t there – get em’ workin’ for me, ya see. Make them feel like they’ve earned your affection, they’ll treat you better when they feel more connected. Plus, they show if they’re worthy of you – can’t be pickin’ any ol’ hume fam. Before you know it, you’re curled up in their lap, purrin’ ya ass off. They love it for some reason. Anyways, that’s how I got in good with the Buckley’s in this life. Abby took me in. She’s my favorite hume.

As far as turf’s concerned, Grant Avenue splits the town in half nice n’ perfect. Them Rags got everything east of Grant, and me n’ the Tabs run everything on the west. Tabs n’ Rags had been at war in Winters for years before me n’ ol’ Mittens called a ceasefire n’ divided the town. The rules are simple now: Stay on your side, no one gets killed. If strays come in, they best pick a side or get the hell out.

We go way back, me n’ Mittens. Came in on that train together. I figure she’s got about one life left these days. Claims I took her first life. Shoot, I don’t remember that, but she does apparently. Luckily, her humes got a bell on her collar. You ain’t never heard a cat so quiet. She’s already halfway done eatin’ a mouse before they know what’s happened to em’. At least now I’ll hear her if she ever feels like settlin’ the score.

We handle our business n’ stay outta each other’s litter boxes, though. There’s plenty o’ bloodshed and squabbles to worry about on my own turf. Mercy, those Moody Slough Maine Coons on the northwest side of town are a piece of work. Gotta hand it to em’ though. They’re good in a scrap and are there when ya need em’.

Each neighborhood on the westside has their own gang of cats, and I have em’ choose a leader. Makes it easier for me to govern when they can handle the small stuff. But I’m the Lion of the Westside Tabs, ya see. They report to me. Every once in a while a youngster will step up and I’ll put em’ in their place. I never kill em’ though – that’s a waste of an ambitious cat. I Just cut em’ up real good and let some respect bleed out.

Yea, I thought there was an understandin’ between us n’ the Rags…but thought wrong. Funny how your thinkin’ can be wrong one day without anybody tellin’ ya.

I was out huntin’ with my neighborhood crew at the cat’s hour - 2AM. Every Tab’s gotta roll at least four deep to stay safe. That’s my rule and I don’t give a damn how many cats don’t like it. It was me, Frodo (he’s the best hunter I got), Tim McClaw (my right paw in the crew, does things other cats won’t, ya see. He bounces from hume to hume. Ain’t a Stray, but no fam to call his own. It happens.), and Kit-Cat (she’s comin’ back from a feral life. Still a little wild, but grateful she reincarnated on this side of Grant. She’s a shadow, that one. Got her runnin’ my black-cat-ops when I need intel from the Eastside.)

We was chirpin’ to each other and killed us a big crow by the football field. We dragged the carcass under the bleachers to share it, but somethin’ didn’t smell right.

I looked up, and they was lookin’ down. Eight silhouettes with reflective eyes glarin’ back. Never seen a single one of em’ before. Could they be Rags? Strays? Shoot, doesn’t matter who they are, they’re on my turf. Dicky’s turf!

The fur on the back of their necks stood up. Oh yea, they was lookin’ for a fight, and they was gonna get one. I’ll take me, Frodo, Tim, n’ Kit against any eight cats any day of the week, ya see.

CHATPER 2

I started hissin’, of course. “Sometimes a mistake disguises itself as an opportunity. But that’s alright, I’ll give you boys this one chance to get steppin’ before you make it,” I protract my claws and twiddle em’. “Unless you’re lookin’ to get skinned. I’m fine either way.”

They just stared and groaned, sizin’ us up by the look of it.

“Something’s not right here, boss,” Kit said sliding beneath my chin from left to right like a ribbon of smoke.

“What are you talking about, Kit?” Tim strutted forward, always so sure of himself. Makes him good at talkin’ n’ persuadin’. Sensed this characteristic real quick when I met him, so I put it to work for me before it could work against me, ya see. “No cat is dumb enough to come over here and start a fight wi—”

REEEEEEEEEAAAWWWRRRR!!

The cats above screamed and pounced on us. A big gray one landed in front of me. I saw my reflection in his wide, blackened eyes. They were feral, lookin’ to kill.

“He’s mine!” Frodo hissed as he leapt over me and dug his claws into the big one. Bless his stupid heart. Frodo got whooped in all his fights, but that’s never stopped him before. I love that loyalty in a cat. Still, figure he’d be needin’ my help in a minute or so.

Tim rolled around with another one a couple feet away while the others closed in on me n’ Kit. All their eyes were coated in a black that put night to shame. I know a cat can get excited in the heat of a fight, but this was different. We was lookin’ at em’ but nothin’ was lookin’ back.

Can’t think about it now. All the eyes lunged forward. Mine and Kit’s claws met theirs. She handled herself just fine – as she always does. Takes at least three cats to give her a challenge - suppose that’s why four attacked her. These cats did their homework. I handled my two though, ya see! I may be getting’ older, but my claws n’ teeth are still sharp.

Okay, maybe I’m a little older than I remember. Somehow one of em’ sliced my nose open. I tossed him aside and focused on the other. These cats were more ferocious than I gave em’ credit for. Hell, I’d say they were gettin’ the better of us. Fightin’ like cats possessed.

Frodo was bleedin’ all over his white and grey stripes, Kit was missin’ a tooth, and one of em’ bit off the tip of my ear – can you believe that?

Time was up for ol’ Frodo. He was on his back takin’ a beating. I dashed towards him, closed my eyes, and leapt forward. Now, just cause’ I’m the Lion of the Tabs don’t make me the smartest cat ever. I let instincts guide me sometimes. In this case, instincts crashed my forehead side of the big cat’s noggin’. I knocked him silly and sent him stumblin’.

“Thanks, Dicky,” Frodo flipped onto his feet lookin’ in bad shape. Hopefully the blood on his fur wasn’t all his.

“Don’t mention it, kid,” I said. We turned our attention to the others. I sensed Frodo was scared. Hadn’t been in a life-or-death scrap before. The adrenaline is unreal, and it’s scraps like these that show a cat who they really are. I’m glad the youngster’s experiencing it. “Relax. You still got, what, 7 lives left?”

He didn’t laugh but his nostrils flared, that was good enough for me. Some of the cats broke off from Kit and closed in on me n’ Frodo. Backs against the wall as the old saying goes. Suddenly, we heard a ‘kah-kah-kah…kakaka…kah-kah.’

“What’s that?” Frodo asked. I just smiled, immediately recognizin’ the chirps.

‘Ack-ack-ack-ack…kackack.’

We watched a wave of black-and-white fluff wash away the cats in front of us.

“Them Moody Slough Main Coons came to bail us out, that’s what,” I said. 6 of em’ from my count, all about the size of the big cat that was wailin’ on Frodo. Well, their fur made em’ look that way. Ever see a wet Maine Coon? Hilarious! Shrinks em’ to a third of their size. All fluff no tuff I always joke with em’.

After a brief scrap the attackers scurried away. All except the one Kit had pinned down. She was busy hissin’ at the cat when the Maine Coon leader rubbed his body next to mine.

“Morpheus…” I said. He circled me as I began lickin’ the blood off Frodo’s head. “Real nice of you boys to hop in like that, but we had it handled.”

“Clearly,” he sat and waited while his crew sat in a line behind him. I’m not a big fan of Morpheus (his humes are real weird) but I always admired how disciplined his cats are. “The Ragdolls have never ventured this far into our territory. And to attack you…disturbing.”

“This is the first time since the ceasefire,” I said helping Frodo to his paws. “We’ll have ambitious first-lifers gettin’ into boarder scraps here n’ there, but nothin’ like this. These cats were lookin’ to kill us. Couldn’t identify any of em neither.”

“Why would Mittens permit this?” Morpheus asked.

“I don’t know,” I glared at the cat beneath Kit. “He might.”

We walked over. Kit was covered in scratches but wasn’t hurt. The cat beneath her, well, looked like she clawed at least three lives out of him. I leaned in slow lookin’ into those wild, black eyes.

“Before I have Kit here put you down, be a daisy n’ tell me why you boys came all the way over here to kill us? Why would Mittens wanna end the ceasefire? Her and I agreed we’d seen enough blood for the rest of our lifetimes,” I asked, hopin’ an answer would cough outta him like a hairball.

The cat just groaned and tried movin’. “Keep still,” Kit whispered digging her claws deeper into his flesh. She scared me sometimes. When she did, I just reminded myself she was on my side.

“Well? Out with it,” Morpheus said on the other side.

Nothing. Only when Tim walked up did the cat give any kind of response. His pupils receded and he shivered. It looked like the cat’s senses were returning. Tim loomed over him, staring upside down at one another.

“P-please,” the cat stuttered, looking horrified at the sight of Tim.

Before he could get out another word, Tim slashed the cat’s throat with a swipe of his freakishly large dewclaw (I wanna say it’s at least two inches. He loves that thing.) “We won’t learn a thing from this one,” he said.

Me, Kit, n’ Morpheus looked at Tim simultaneously. I ain’t gonna lie, the kill caught me by surprise. Looked like the cat was bout’ to spill his guts – even more than Kit had already done for em’ – and he pulls this without my order. Dammit, McClaw.

“Dammit, Mclaw,” I hissed. “Why n’ the hell you go n’ do somethin’ like that?”

Tim licked the blood from his dewclaw with an indifference that really pissed me off. “An attempt on my Lion’s life is punishable by death. He didn’t deserve another breath, nor a chance to plant lies in our heads,” he said movin’ his licks to his snow-white fur. “Besides, it’s not like this incident wasn’t going to elicit a meeting with Mittens. She’ll have answers for us.”

“Always so certain, aren’t you Timothy?” Morpheus said. “However, you are correct,” he turned to me. “We must summon Mittens for questioning. This attack must be answered for, whether she’s responsible or not.”

Damn straight it does. I was still puzzled, though. Why after all these years she’d send some small-time cats to take me out? She’s the type that would want to kill me personally. Or used to be. Maybe the Rag life really has changed her.

“Only one way to find out,” I took one last look at the dead cat. Turned his head, there was a tiny hole in the back of his skull. Never seen anything like it, but scraps’ll hurt you in a million different ways. “I’ll send a messenger to her in the mornin’. Get this all figured out. Until then, meow.”

“Meow,” echoed the cats, they all bowed.

I think the whole “meow” thing is kind of stupid, but it’s out of my paws. It’s old-tongue, a sort of respect amongst us cats, ya see. Don’t matter who you’re affiliated with, what the situation is, or what life you’re on…meow reminds us we’re still cats. It’s something you forget goin’ feral.

The scrap had me starvin’. Luckily we still had our crow, so I moseyed over and picked it up. “You can leave it,” Morpheus said.

“Huh?” I said with a mouth full of feathers.

“We Maine Coons are awfully temperamental,” Morpheus rubbed his face down the side of my fur as he walked around me. “Don’t want us thinking you’re ungrateful for saving your last life, do you?”

Morpheus and his crew give me the creeps, but every cat there knew how bad the Tabs needed the Maine Coons to stay happy. I shrugged and spat out the crow.

“I would never,” I glared at Morpheus for a couple seconds, lettin’ him know just how grateful I am. “And the dead cat?”

“We’ll take care of it,” Morpheus said in a way that raised my fur. Back in the day we’d drag an enemy cat corpse to the countryside and let the coyotes and vultures dispose of it. My gut told me that wasn’t how these boys were going to get rid of this one.

I nodded to my crew and we strutted away from the bleachers. We remained silent passing under the streetlights – collectin’ our thoughts from what’d happened. I tried to keep it together in front of the crew, but we all knew this could restart the war.

Dawn’s crimson spilled into the sky and we four sat on the hood of a parked 67’ Chevy Impala back at our cul-de-sac

“You did good, crew. Real good,” I stared at Tim to make sure he knew I wasn’t talkin’ about him. Then I turned my head to the young buck. “How ya feelin’, Frodo?”

“Been better,” he grimaced. “Been worse too. Don’t worry though, boss. My humes will patch me up.”

I nodded.

“Let’s get some rest. Tomorrow, Mittens better have a damned-good explanation for all this,” I said.

“And if she doesn’t?” Kit said bluntly. I always liked that about her. No BS, just a knack for sayin’ what we’re thinkin’.

“I’m curious to find out myself.”

“Can a cat with one life left still afford to be curious?” Kit circled me.

“Only if the cat is me,” I said.

Kit smiled, hopped off the hood, and cantered back to her house. “Ciao, boys.”

The other two hopped off the hood and I watched my crew leave. Frodo and Kit wore the scrap on their bodies, but Tim’s snow-white fur was spotless. You know it’s a bad day when he’s the only one holdin’ his own. I was too tired to care – and thinkin’ about Tim would just infuriate me.

Over the fence I went and through the kitty entrance my humes installed in the house’s side door. After a couple licks of water I made my way to Abby’s room. She’s just a kid and my favorite hume in the world. I snuggle up under her arm and I feel her give me a squeeze. What can I say, I love a good snuggle after a scrap. After a few purrs I let sleep rescue me from how nervous I was feeling about seein’ Mittens tomorrow. She’s kinda my ex, ya see.

CHAPTER 3

A Russian Blue met us on the territory boarder the next day at the cat’s hour – 2AM in case you forgot.

“Twinkie,” I said recognizing him. “The old coot still has you out doing her chores, huh? Thought you’d be her personal guard by now.”

He circled me, Tim, Kit, and Frodo – poor kid looked ridiculous with the cone his humes put over his head.

“I do as my Lioness asks,” Twinkie said, unphased at the jape. Even when he was killin’ my Tabs during the war, I’ve always respected his composure. He’s damn near emotionless, like it’s some sort of mind game. Well, I have my own mind game. It’s simply knowing I can rip any cat to shreds – and every cat on either side of Grant Avenue knowin’ the same. “Follow me.”

We trotted behind the Russian Blue as he escorted us passed the post-office, hotel, and stopped at the brewery across the street from Rotary Park. It ain’t much to look at. Just a block of grass and pine trees in front of the community center with a gazebo in the middle.

“They’re creeping all around, Dicky,” Kit whispered.

I kept my eyes forward, away from all the Rags sneakin’ on rooftops and alleys. They weren’t too subtle about it either. I think that was the point.

“I sense em’,” my whiskers fluttered a bit. “Don’t worry. They ain’t doing anything to us tonight.”

“You sure? I thought the same thing yesterday before we walked under the bleachers,” Kit protracted and retracted her right claws.

I wasn’t sure anymore but couldn’t let her see that in case this thing got bloody. “Don’t be a scaredy-cat,” I reassured her rubbin’ my face under her chin. “I’ll get my answers and then we can get outta here.”

“Good luck,” Tim said. I didn’t acknowledge. Still too angry with him, so I stepped off the curb and walked across the street draped in a dim yellow by the lights overhead.

The park grass was wet with dew, leavin’ a trail of steps behind me. I stopped at the base of the gazebo stairs and spied Mittens already there waiting for me. After a deep breath I made it up in two quick hops. Next, we start circlin’ the inner railings. Starin’ and glarin’ at each other. Her at the Tabby that was now a Bengal, me at the Ragdoll that was now a Calico. Funny how experiences can change your colors of the years.

“I remember a cat that could get up here in one leap,” she said mirroring my every step across the gazebo. “Getting some grey in your fur, Dicky?”

Damned feline wasted no time gettin’ under my pelt. “We all are, apparently,” I said tryin’ to keep my cool. With any other cat I can keep it together, but her… “Even Lions get gray in their mane at some point. Shows wisdom.”

“And you are a wise and ferocious Lion, aren’t you?” she said.

“Damned straight I am,” my pride blurted out.

She laughed under her breath. “And how are the Buckley’s?”

Almost sounded like sincerity comin’ out her mouth. “They’re good. Keepin’ my litterbox clean and my water bowl filled,” I said. “How about them Roberts’ of yours?”

“Oh, all is well. They try to keep me inside these days,” she jingled the bell around her neck. “But that never quite works out. Not when there’s a meeting with Dicky, the Westside Lion, to get to.” Her sarcasm mimicked sincerity.

“Trust me, Mits, there’s a lot more I’d rather being doing right now than hissin’ at each other,” I said dispensing of the pleasantries. “All I want are some answers.”

“Likewise,” she left her antagonizing tone at the rail and walked to the middle of the gazebo. “A cat is dead because of you. Do you deny this?”

“Nope,” I met her in the middle. We both sat with our backs straight and locked eyes. “You should’ve known that’d happen to any cat sent to kill me.”

“You’re assuming they were mine?” She sounded insulted. “That I really sent an assassin pack after you?”

I gave a nod and made sure she could see my cuts from the scrap.

“And what would I gain from sending my Ragdolls after you? Please tell me,” she asked in a way that inferred she remembers what I can do to a cat as well.

“Power over the Westside, over my cats, access to more humes, you tell me.”

“Idiot,” she said.

“What did you just call m—”

“I called you an idiot!” She hissed. “You really think after four years I’d want to restart a war? Now? When we have one life left each? Now when…”

She trailed off and looked down at her protruding belly. How the hell did I not notice before?

“You’re pregnant,” I stared in silence, sifting through my emotions. All I could think about was life one when she was pregnant with my litter. My kittens. Now she’s carrying around the spawn of some other Tom. I had no right to be upset, but I was.

“That’s right,” she said. “The Eastside Lioness is content on her side of town with our treaty agreement intact. Peace keeps children safe.”

I believed her. My gut told me she wasn’t lyin’. “Then why did those cats attack me and my crew?”

“I don’t know. They weren’t mine, understand? However, I recognized them after my sentries picked them up. They were all strays that wondered into town a few weeks back,” she said. “They’ve been coming in, in droves since the last fire out in the hills. All country cats without homes or humans anymore, so I declared the East to be a Stray-Haven.”

“A haven?” I almost gagged on a furball. “Why?”

“The West doesn’t welcome strays,” she cocked her head sideways. “In my opinion, Strays are potential Ragdolls when you give them time and a sense of belonging. They say ‘meow’ too.”

“Well, these strays you love so much tried to kill me n’ my crew. If you’re gonna take em’ in you best keep em’ in line!”

“Don’t tell me how to govern my side.”

“Then don’t imply you ain’t responsible for em’!”

We paused. Her and I both know how feisty we get in a hissin’ match, so we stayed silent to calm down.

“They were quite torn up when my guards brought them to me,” she said. “And confused.”

“Confused about what?”

“Why they were hurt, what’d happened. They don’t remember anything, Dicky.”

“Is that right?”

“Yes.”

This wasn’t the explanation I was expecting – or wanted for that matter.

“I wanna see these cats. Ol’ Tim has a way of gathering information with his dewclaw.”

“You can’t.”

“And why the hell not?”

“They’re dead.”

“Dead? In your custody?”

“No. I let them dwell under the bridge with the rest of the Strays for the night. Come daybreak, someone had slashed their throats.”

Murdered cats ain’t a good for either side of Grant Avenue. There was a lot more to this than I could have guessed.

“Somethin’ don’t smell right, Mits,” I rubbed my face down her side and circled back. Us cats have a subconscious language, ya see. Sometimes there’s things you can say with your body that words just can’t. Humes don’t understand it, well, most of em’. “You shoulda seen their eyes, Mits. I’m tellin’ ya, it was like they were feral.”

“None of them were Feral, I can assure you,” she said. “I let in Strays, but Ferals? Too dangerous. Too…” she made sure she grabbed my attention before making her point. “…unpredictable.”

My mind raced to put together an explanation. In the middle of it, I thought about Abby. What would she do if I ever bit the dust like those Strays? Would she grieve? Get a new cat? I shook my head and returned to the present.

“Who did this?” I asked.

“We can rule-out Ferals. The kills were clean and the cats uneaten,” she said. “Perhaps it’s not just my Ragdolls you should be concerned about.”

Her words made me wanna throw up. My Tabs would never pull anything like this. That’s not how I taught em’ to go about things.

“Mmmmmm,” I groaned.

“So. We’ve got eight dead cats on our paws and no leads,” Mittens walked around me this time. “How do you propose we move forward?”

“I have no love for the East side or good-for-nothin’ Strays, but I don’t wanna see any more death,” I said.

“Nor do I.”

“Let’s meet here again next week,” I said. “In that time, we comb through our neighborhoods, talk to our crews, you know, do some investigatin’. I’d have half a mind to help you question all those Strays pilin’ up under our bridge.”

“My bridge, Dicky” she said like a slow cut into the pelt. Didn’t even realize I said our. That was stupid. Showing sentiment like that. Sentiment is weakness. Weakness gets you killed, and I’m on my last life.

“Right. Your bridge,” I looked away.

“Well, my dearest Dicky,” Mittens said in her smooth, coy voice. “It appears we’ll be working together like we did in the first life.”

“Only this time you don’t scratch out one of my eyes.”

She shrugged. “Funny how you’ve carried that scar all these lives.”

“It reminds me to play nice.”

We shared a silence. Stared into each other’s eyes. Ain’t nothin’ like cat eyes, ya see. It’s like I can see all her lives, even the first one we shared together. Populating Winters with our own litters. I also see the lingering hurt from when I decided goin’ feral meant more than family.

“I’ve got to know, who’s the father?” My curiosity asked.

“Why does it matter?”

“It don’t.”

“In that case, I’m not quite sure to be honest,” she said rubbing her body along my arm. “I have urges same as you, and so many toms come and go from my backyard. But who knows, maybe it’s just nature needing to reincarnate some cats. I’ll be their mother either way.”

I nodded. Mercy, I forgot how alike Mittens and me were. Gotta kill the sentiment though before it festers and kills me. My crew will sniff that out and give me hell. Afterall, she is a Rag.

We stared for another moment.

“Meow,” she said.

“Meow,” I responded.

We walked down the steps and went our separate ways. My crew was waitin’ for me on the sidewalk with Twinkie.

“Well?” Tim asked licking that damn dewclaw of his. Ridiculous thing looks like a scythe.

I just glared at him, turned to Twinkie. “Take us home, fat boy.”

As advertised, the Blue Russian gave no hint at anything that could be considered an emotion, and started walking.

“Turns out the Rags that attacked us were actually Strays. And uhh, all of em’ were murdered yesterday.”

“No way,” Kit said. She wasn’t so much scared - don’t think anything could scare Kit. More like she was feelin’ the weight of the situation pressin’ down on her shoulders. Frodo stayed quiet. Tim could sense I still wasn’t in the mood to talk to him.

“They were good cats,” Twinkie said in front as we neared Grant Avenue. “Strays, yes, but I got to know them a little. They were all thinking of joining the Ragdolls. I was even training the one you killed,” he stared at Tim. “His name was Cupcake.”

“Join the Rags?” Tim snapped. “Looks like I put him out of his misery before it even started.”

The Blue Russian turned his head forward. No emotion, just the sway of his underbelly fluff swaying back and forth.

“Can you think of who would have wiped them all out?” Asked Kit.

“No,” Twinkie sighed and paused where the sidewalk ended at the turf boarder. “But when I examined their bodies, they all shared the same tiny holes in the back of their skulls. It wasn’t the cause of death, however…a curious similarity.”

Little holes, like the one under the bleachers had, I thought to myself.

“We’ll be seein’ ya next week, Twinkie,” I said. My crew and I were halfway across the street when I turned back. “Meow.”

Twinkie bowed, meowed, turned, and disappeared into the darkness waiting outside the streetlight. I rejoined my crew and walked back to our neighborhood and hopped on top of the Impala like we did the night before. Tonight felt heavy, though.

Told my Tabs everything will be alright in the end. That the killings would stop and we could chalk this up to a freak accident. But this ain’t my first life. I’m too old to be too naïve. Where there’s death is always more death.

“Tim!” I hollered as Kit and Frodo went back to their houses. He stopped on the edge of the hood, turned his head just enough. I sat next to him on the hood. “Are you still with us?”

“Until the bitter end,” he dragged his dewclaw and left a white streak across the shiny black hood before leaping off and disappearing into the darkness.

CHAPTER 4

The nightmare was just beginning. Dead Strays kept piling up, then a few Ragdolls. I was only nervous then. What I feel now looking down at Frodo’s dead body…ain’t felt like this since I was Feral. Scared, anxious, angry…it was all so raw and burning in my chest. Damn it all.

Kit found him in an alleyway not far from our cul-de-sac this morning. Tortured real bad by the looks of it. Hope he gave the bastard a good fight.

The thought passed through my mind that this would prove to Mittens it wasn’t us doing the killin’. I hated myself for it. I sat and looked at Frodo’s open eyes and open throat. Every death was the same slash.

Me n’ Kit dropped his body off in front of his fam’s house. They cried when they found him. They loved him too. Like we did. It’s sad but he’ll be along again. Somewhere, sometime, every cat comes back to live their 9. That’s our nature. Fate sees fit to place us where and when we need to be.

“Was there a little hole in the back of his head?” I asked.

Me and Kit were in the shade under the Impala. She sniffed and shook her head (Frodo was like a kid brother to her; teachin’ him how to fight without fear).

“Interestin’. Ain’t been a hole since the first batch of Strays got killed,” I said.

Mittins was experiencing the same across town from what Kit had reported. She was on her way back from spyin’ for me when she came across Frodo. She knows how to stay invisible, a lingering Feral ability and perfect for gatherin’ intel. Kit had a ton of unnatural abilities from bein’ Feral that domesticated life was still brushin’ off her.

“I think that was just a coincidence, Dicky,” she said miserably. “Cats are just…dying. No rhyme nor reason. All over town.”

She’d reported about 6 Rags and 5 Strays murdered up until this point. I had her stay in from spyin’ tonight. When your heart’s broke, your mind ain’t right, so I told her to spend time with her humes. I’ll need her to have my back at tomorrow’s meeting.

When tomorrow came, Tim reported 3 more dead Tabs behind Town & Country Market. First time I saw him all week and this is what he brings me. No leads, no theories, nothing! Just reports of more cats with open throats and no holes in the back of their heads.

No one was safe. Hell, even the humes were startin’ to take notice when I overheard Abbey’s dad mumblin’ about the dead cats on the toilet with the Winters Express spread across his face.

It goes against my own rules, but I ordered my crew to stay indoors tonight. I was goin’ to see Mitts alone, and I’ll be damned if any more of my Tabs get got. Kit protested some before hissing and walking back to her house. Tim seemed disinterested. He just shrugged and walked down the alley we found Frodo’s body. His demeanor was gettin’ under my pelt, and when this is all said n’ done, we’re gonna have ourselves a chat about his role in the Tabs.

The wind was howlin’ something fierce when I got to the stoplight a few minutes before 2AM. Twinkie was waitin’ there for me, swayin’ a little with each gust. “How’s it goin’ Twink?” I asked.

He didn’t even look at me. Just turned and we started walkin’ towards the park.

Strange. The Blue Russian was a quiet, emotionless bastard but he’d at least entertain some conversation. Oh well. I don’t blame him for stayin’ quiet, he has dead comrades on his mind same as me. I looked over at him. His head was forward as we passed under a streetlight. Lord help me if I didn’t see a dark mark behind his head. Or maybe I just wanted to see one.

It vanished when we stepped out of the light. My pace slowed a bit as I looked up. Cats were lining the tops of local businesses. Dark silhouettes lookin’ down like they did under the bleachers.

We finally made it to the brewery by the park. Twinkie sat under the streetlight and waited as I headed toward the gazebo. I looked back at him. Maybe it was the shadows of his brow, but I didn’t see his blue eyes. Only darkness.

I hopped up the gazebo steps in one leap, but Mittens wasn’t there. She was never late, and it felt like I was bein’ watched from all over. I just sat, waited, and watched the wind pull at the tree branches in all directions. Then I smelled smoke.

An orange glow radiated from behind a jagged horizon of buildings. The direction it came from, though. It couldn’t be Mitten’s house, could it?

“Dicky!”

I turned.

“Tim?” I was genuinely surprised. “I told you to stay home!”

“I know, but Mittens!” he panted. “Her house is on fire!”

The rational part of me wondered why he was here – or cared - but a wave of emotions washed all that away. Before I knew it, I was jumpin’ off the gazebo and following Tim in a dead sprint towards the pulsing orange glow.

We hustled down the streets. Block by block we got closer. I recognized the neighborhood from an earlier lifetime. One with Mitts. The nostalgia pushed me to a speed I didn’t know I was capable of. Finally, we made it to the house. By that time sirens were blaring in the distance and the humes were lined up in the street watching the inferno.

Fire bellowed out of the doorway and windows of the two-story house. I started husting around the humes’ feet lookin’ for Mittens. I didn’t see her.

“TIM!” I hissed. “Do you see Mitts anywhere?”

“No. Nowhere,” he said.

No part of me wanted to accept she was still in the house. Four or five lives ago I’d break in there and look, but this was life nine, ya see. I can’t go in.

The heat pressed against my face, burned my eyes a little, made the scar over my left eye throb. I thought about the scar, how I got it, why I got it, and who gave it to me. I blinked. She was in there, burning, while I was sitting out here, wasting time.

“Screw it,” I said. What’s the point of having nine lives if they don’t amount to anything?

I bound forward. If Tim protested, I couldn’t hear it. The wind and fire drowned out all else. I hopped up their steps in one leap, lowered my head, and plowed through the doorway.

Fire was everywhere. Luckily, I’m low enough the smoke didn’t bother me too much, but the heat was unbearable. I knew I couldn’t be in there too long. Guess it wouldn’t be a life-or-death situation if you didn’t feel death strokin’ his boney fingers down your fur.

“MITTS!” I cried. “MITTS, WHERE ARE YOU!?”

Nothing. I ran across the living room into the kitchen. My whiskers twitched, absorbed my surroundings, fueled my instincts and movements. Where could Mitts be? Upstairs? Yes! Something told me yes.

I ran up the burning stairway quick as I could. The fiery carpet charred my paws and singed my fur, but I made it up. Mercy, everything hurts.

“MITTS!” I shouted again. “Mittens where are you, dammit?”

Not in the bathroom. Not in the closet. A wall of fire blocked the rooms to my left. My hope was melting as I kept looking for any signs of life. I flew down the hallway to one last door. It was ajar. I didn’t even bother stopping. Just lowered my head – as I always do – and barreled into it.

On the other side was a slight reprieve from the inferno. I could actually breathe, but it wouldn’t take the fire long to drape itself across the large room of books. They lined the walls, surrounding the wooden desk in the middle. Behind it were French doors. Beneath it was Mittens.

“Mitts!” I ran over and began licking her forehead. “C’mon, girl. We gotta get out of here.”

I bit her scruff and tugged but she didn’t budge. After a second yank I spit the collar out. The little bell on it rang. “We don’t have time for this, Mitts! We…”

No, not now. I saw the litter of kittens she was curled around. She was in the middle of nursing. Even still, why wasn’t she moving? I circled her and the little ones. About six at a glance, but my eyes were stingin’ from the smoke, can’t say for sure.

“Mittens, please,” I said.

She looked up at me. The eyes I used to know were drowned in a deep, black emptiness. They looked at me and saw nothing. No past. No connection. Nothing but something to kill. She swiped up and caught my good eye. I bound back to recover. Damn, I forgot how much her paws hurt.

“At least now you have a scar to match your other eye,” a raspy voice bellowed over the fire inching its way into the room.

I looked above the desk. Sitting on it was Tim, lickin’ his dewclaw.

“What the hell are you doing, McClaw?” I heaved every breath, yet somehow Tim looked unaffected by the smoke.

“Testing you,” he said.

“Testin’ me?”

“Yes. And you FAILED!” Tim spat. “I wanted to see if you still had what it takes to be the Lion amongst us. To finally eradicate the Ragdolls and be the sole-leader of this town. All you had to do was sit outside, watch her burn, and it all would have been ours!”

The fire waited behind me at the doorway, blocking any chance of escape. Like I was gonna back down from McClaw anyway.

“Eradicate the Rags? Watch Mittens burn? It was never about killin’ em’ all! That’s not how you move forward” I shouted. Almost couldn’t believe the words comin’ out of my mouth. I’ve always hated Rags, but never did I want them all dead. Eventually we woulda figured something out, some kinda solution. Wouldn’t we?

“I never said I wanted them dead,” Tim sunk his dewclaw into the desk as if it were butter. “They can’t be Ragdolls if their minds…change allegiances, aye?”

My head tilted. Wasn’t sure what he was gettin’ at. I started forward, seein’ red from smoke and anger. Then my heart damn near stopped seein’ Kit and Morpheus appear from behind Tim. Their pitch-black eyes blazed through the smokey air.

“Your orders were to stay home,” my words came out in a pathetic, weak hiss. The hurt of seein’ em’ like that was a punch to the heart, ya see.

“They can’t hear you. None of them can,” Tim held his dewclaw in front of his face. “They belong to me now. All that I’ve turned are loyal to me and only me.”

“Turned?”

“Nature harbors its own kind of magic. You know this. Most cats shy away from the abilities it imbues, but me, I’ve fully embraced it. My ability’s not to turn feral, rather, giving others a feral turn,” he laughed to himself while admiring that damned claw. “While other cats spray their essence to claim territory, I dig my claw into a cat’s skull and inject my essence. It induces a feral state in my subject and renders abject loyalty. I consume their soul leaving nothing but obedience to my will,” he smiled. “Since territory is nothing more than a shared concept of multiple minds, I’m simply claiming territory in my own way.”

All three jumped down and surrounded me. Tim in front, Kit to my left, Morpheus my right.

“What about the attack under the bleachers? What about all the murders, McClaw?” I said. “Why did this need to happen?”

“The stray’s attack on us was an experiment. Trial and error if you will, and a little acting on my end to keep my comrades unaware. I merely wanted to see how good I was at telepathic puppeteering. My actions begot the first meeting with the Ragdolls in over a year. If I caused that effect in an experiment, you can imagine how I marveled at the possibilities if I but honed this ability. The first batch of Strays had to die, of course. Cleaning up a necessary failure to keep you unaware until I was ready. Sure, they didn’t recall what’d happened to them, but I couldn’t risk their memory coming back to them,” Tim coughed up the truth I’d been lookin’ for all week.

“Every cat I came across this week was given a chance to surrender their will freely. I can make the turn painless, Dicky. Those who refused were coerced, and it got easier as my ‘territory’ grew. Unfortunately, you – like other cats – are just too stubborn to see things my way and seal your own fate.”

He didn’t need to spell it out. I knew who he was talkin’ about. “You didn’t need to kill him. Frodo was one of us! Loyal, true. He would have died for you if he had to.”

“Well,” Tim shrugged. “I guess he had to. A pity. I rather liked him.”

I was so focused on Tim I hadn’t noticed Mittens had left her litter and walked behind me. Even under a trance she was silent.

“Morpheus, Kit, Mits. You don’t have to do this,” I looked at them all, then at Tim. “You don’t have to do this. There’s still time, we can all get out of here.”

“Not really,” Tim said. “You’re just a charred cat they’ll find in the rubble while I leave as the Lion of Winters. I will consume the minds of every Rag and Tab and create generations of feral obedience. Cats will be born loyal to me, their minds and genetics altered to serve my every whim. Then and only then will there be peace. And it will be because of me.”

“Is that right?”

“Yes,” Tim said. “You could have joined me. You could have proven yourself a good leader by letting Mittens die, and then advocating for all cats of Winters to give themselves to me before dying your last death with honor. You would have ushered my reign, but now you will disappear without anyone left to cry for you. Not even your humans, for their house is next to erupt in flames. There will be no trace you even existed! Die now, Dicky!”

Can’t believe it’s come to this, but it has. No other recourse. Fire and cats surround me. DAMN HIM! That son of a bitch McClaw turnin’ everybody against me. Even when Mits, Kit, and Morpheus jumped me I tried to resist. I just tucked my head and curled. Felt it all though, their claws tearin’ my fur and flesh apart. I don’t mind bleedin’ for my friends and loved ones, even if they’re the ones causin’ it. Problem is, I only have so much blood – and patience.

My mind raced, desperate to find an alternative action. There wasn’t. They were killing me, ya see, and I had to do what I had to do.

“I’m sorry, I know you’re under his control right now, but maybe there’s a part of you that can hear this,” I said looking at Mittens after she bit a chunk out of my left ear. “After I kill him, please do what you have to…to stop me.”

Then I turned to Tim and watched his expression change. For once the smug bastard looked surprised. That’s right, McClaw, bet you didn’t see this comin’. Neither did I if I’m being completely honest. I just stared and gave an inadvertent smile since Morpheus tore off my left cheek and whiskers. It was more like a bloody sneer with my teeth exposed like that. It was a nice last moment of bein’ me, though, watchin’ him watch my pupils engulf my eyes into a darkness he’d never seen before.

CHAPTER 5

I scream louder than the fire.

Primal emotions are…takin’ over. Not much time left. I’m…still…me, if just for a few moments longer. The feeling is frost reachin’ its way down my spine and spreadin’ throughout my soul and psyche. It makes me shiver.

Pain means nothin’ anymore. Not the gashes, not the aches of oldness, I ain’t heedin’…none of it. I…urrrgh “Back away! Now!” I shout.

My body begins convulsing, and my sense of self begins fading away like an echo. I violently twist and heave as if covered in fire, and suddenly, I freeze. In that millisecond, I’m gripped by a savage bloodlust that transcends reasoning. Reality slips away. Instinct takes over. Nature demands me to make my decision: Fight or fly. I choose, and nature unleashes me. Rather, what is taking over me.

I explode upward and spin. Blood flings itself from my fur and sizzles in the fire. I land and swipe at the surrounding cats with impossible speed, creating a sliver of space between us.

“KILL THEM!” A thought urges.

“No…not them. Not them…I’m still…Dicky,” I battle for control of what’s left of me.

I get ahold of myself before attacking them. They’re cut, not hurt. Good.

I glance to my right and see Tim. He…must…DIE! But behind him. Dammit. “The kittens. Must…save them first, but...AAHHH!”

I dash towards kittens. There’s only time to save one. Fire burns my eyes. Fire burns everything. Can’t think about the rest of em’ burnin’, just run and react. I chomp down on a kitten’s scruff and keep goin’. No lookin’ back. Never look back. Lookin’ back burns!

I jump on top of the desk and see the inferno reflectin’ from the windows on the French door. There’s a cat in the reflection too. Kitten in its mouth. Green in its eyes. My eyes. Dicky’s eyes. But…I know they ain’t green, and I know I ain’t the one lookin’ back at me.

“I remember you from lifetimes ago…Dicky!” Words growl from my mouth that aren’t my own. They continue involuntarily. “You sealed me away. You took life from me! Yet, you come crawling back to me, and my power. It feels good…doesn’t it? You love it…and now I’m unbound from your pathetic weakness.”

The bloodlust surges back. I lower my head and catapult forward. The cat in the reflection explodes into a thousand pieces. Goodbye Dicky. I fall slowly in the air amidst the blood, smoke, and shattered memory.

My claws reach out while falling, looking for something to grab. Looking. Looking. THERE! A light cable. I grab, dangle a moment, and land lightly on the porch. I’m alive. The kitten is…alive. Its blood in my mouth tastes…too good. I walk to the middle of the lawn. I want to eat…but I vomit instead. My jaw releases the kitten leaving a ring of bite marks on its scruff. Damn you Dicky. Fine, I won’t eat it.

The other cats land softly on lawn. They stare. I stare and drool out of my exposed row of teeth. There are hardly thoughts anymore, only instinct and desire. Kill to survive. Kill to kill. And I have…blood…on my breath. My skin is…in tatters. Like a torn cloth clinging loosely onto muscle, bone, and tendon. My eyes are bleeding, I look like hell. Seems fitting as the surrounding fence seals us in an inescapable cage of fire. We really are in hell, and they’re trapped here with me. I will…kill them all.

They attack is slow in my perception. Their eyes are black, but not as black as mine. They’re fake feral. I see that now. I slash the fluffy one, the Main Coon Dicky called ‘Morpheus’, across the face and he spins away. Meanwhile, the orange cat jumps on my back. Kit. Yes, that’s her name. Easy to tell she’s still partially feral, but it’s not enough to make a difference. I bite a chunk out of her paw digging into my shoulder. Her flesh is…delicious. I want more, so I bite through fur, flesh, and bone. She falls off leaving her paw…in my mouth. I chew and chew…and chew. Delicious. Kit backs away, tending to her new nub. Enjoy the agony, I’ll kill you once you’ve experienced enough of it.

The Calico cat approaches me now. Mittens…oh you’re the one Dicky left for me aren’t you? That’s the tightness in my chest. You’re pretty. She feints right, dashes left, bounds back right with claws. Her moves are…familiar. Inside me, I know what she’s doing. My claws protrude. Our claws embrace at the last moment and I…am…too…strong! I pin the pretty cat on her back and break her left arm. She hisses. I raise my right paw up, ready to kill. Are you seeing this Dicky?

I hesitate. Why? I can’t. Why, why, why!? Damn you…damn you Dicky. Existing in my subconscious. That’ll fade soon enough. A morning mist yet to be expelled by the afternoon sun. Fine.

I slash her face instead. I’ll kill later…when my mind’s right.

In the corner of my eye, I see a big claw coming for me. I move first, the dewclaw misses me. That’s…Tim. Ah yes. Dicky wants to kill him as much as I do. I can…feel it. Finally, we agree.

He swipes again, cuts my stomach. He thinks he’s stronger when he cuts me. Good. Keep cutting. Get stronger. Get closer. Closer. Close enough so I can taste you.

The others stay back. Tim moves fast, I let him sink the dewclaw into my arm. I remain still. I feel it all. Feels…good. I feel…alive. Tim smiles, then my reach and dig my claws into his arm. He tries to pull back, but I pull him closer. My claws are too deep. He may have a powerful one, but mine are sharpened steel and thirsty for more blood. Tim’s…desperate, I can feel that too. He attacks with his other paw and back feet. I don’t care. He’s mine.

Tim’s smile disappears. The other cats attack again, making me feel more alive! I pull Tim closer, his claw deeper. It makes a slimy noise going into me. We stare. He sees the dark of my eyes. I see fear. I see…cats. So many cats. He controls them. Fake feral all of them. They don’t deserve that. They need the real thing. To truly embrace their nature.

I impart a gift to Tim through our stare. A knowing that he is about to die, and all the cats he controls know they will be set free.

I pull the dewclaw out of my arm, turn it towards Tim. He’s screaming now. It’s muffled to me, like he’s above the surface and I’m underwater. I only hear the low screams and my heartbeat.

I place the dewclaw between Tim’s eyes. I push it down into his skull. The others are now ripping flaps of skin off me. I’m all red and wet and ALIVE! Further, deeper I push the claw with my front paws. Tim goes cross-eyed watching his precious tool sink into forehead. I push. I push. Slowly, I push until my paws are touching his face. His eyes flash white, then go out. No more screaming from him. I wonder how he tastes. Fear before death makes the meat…savory.

The others back away. All their eyes are…different now. No more black. Tim’s control died with him. They look at me. Their eyes wonder at me. Why?

Oh…that’s why. They don’t know yet…it’s their turn to…DIE!!!

I leap forward. Death’s the only thing that can stop me. We all fight behind the burning house. Claws and teeth and gashing and biting. These cats are no match. Morpheus, the fluffy one. He dies first. Mittens ran away. She’ll die after Kit. Oh I…can’t wait.

Kit and Morpheus are, easy to hurt, easy to kill, but…they’re not dead yet. I knock my head into orange cat and she falls asleep. I can feel…she means something to Dicky. They all do. I can feel his influence drifting away. Witness, Dicky. The ruin of all you hold dear.

After two of my swipes, Morpheus is out of the fight. His back legs are bloody and limp. He pulls himself away from me. What…don’’t want to play anymore? He’s fluffy no more, his blood makes him look small. HAHAHAHA!!! Blood drags across grass behind him. It tastes…too good. I lick the blood trail on my approach. I stare. He stares back. He’s scared. Good. Fear taste good. I keep licking the trail. So much blood…and it’s all for me!

I reach him. No words, no feeling the fire, just me and the kill.

Jingle jingle. What’s that? A bell? I turn. Mittens?

How? Your arm is broken. She’s…running fast. Too fast. Too quiet. She’s not stopping! I go to block her right arm, but she attacks with her left. How? I broke that arm!

I look down. Blood’s spilling everywhere. I’m…dizzy now. But my blood tastes…good at least.

Strength leaves. Pain registers. It’s unbearable…it’s death. Dark blood pours out. I…stumble to middle of lawn. Dark blood leaving…dark thoughts…leaving. I look down in the puddle blood. It reflects the fire and a cat with eyes of pure darkness. I know that cat from lifetimes ago. He took everything from me. Now, I’ll never have to see those black eyes again. I splash the face out of the puddle. When it resettles, green eyes are starin’ back at me.

I look up and see Tim with his dewclaw jammed in his forehead. Did I…did I do that? W-wow. That was for Frodo you bastard.

My legs give out, lost too much blood. Somehow, I feel peaceful layin’ there next to the little kitten. I must have saved him before completely turnin’. He’s breathing slow, but he’s alive. Little fighter, this one. Is he…a Ragdoll kitten? Ah. I don’t even care anymore. He’s safe.

Kit, Morpheus, and Mittens surrounded me. I cry at the sight of what I did to them. All three of them are crying too. I think at the sight of what they did to me. They begin licking me clean and nudging me with their heads. It’s okay, guys, this was the only way. Don’t cry for me. It’s all over now.

The darkness, the feral spirit, spilled out of me. I thought I’d die mindless, but no, I was me again for these fleeting moments. Mitts did what I asked her. She…did what she had to. Must’ve been a part of her in that state that heard me. She saved the day. My 9 are up, and I’m dyin’ happy.

“I’m so sorry, Dicky,” Mittens says. And ohhhh my, oh, my how long I’ve waited to hear those words. “I love you, you hear me!? I love you, you stupid Tabby!”

I wish I could say it back. Wish I could tell her the same, but she slashed my throat, ya see. I couldn’t say it. Didn’t have to, really. It’s like I said before, sometimes words can’t express what you have to say. Not like body language can. Cats know this. All I could do was show love the only way I could…so I purred. I purred. I purred and somehow that little kitten opened his eyes. We gazed at one another. He my last sight, me his first.

While lost in his eyes, my mind passed through every life. Every stupid mistake. Every triumph. Every meaningless death. The war took a few of em’. Memory took me to meeting Kit for the first time. She tried to kill me. Such spirit she has.

Memory went to Abby. All the nights I spent on her lap watching movies, playing with that little dangly toy she’d bob in front of me. I’ll miss her. She’ll be okay though; she’s a fighter like me n’ this Rag kitten layin’ here. Curious thing this little kitten. He, his life, they’re so…precious.

Finally, my world focused on Mittens. The train we took in a hundred years ago. The lives we spent together, the lives we spent apart. Nothing I can do about it now but reflect. Goin’ feral wasn’t worth it, but life doesn’t care. An overwhelming feelin’ comes with the fading of life, the wooziness and tingling that replaces all the pain. It’s an understandin’ that life couldn’t have played out any other way. All the hurt, joy, and everything in between…it was all supposed to happen the way it happened. Huh…is it really that simple? Yes. Death is simple, it’s life that’s complicated. I suppose that’s why everything is so clear to me now.

Out of all the lives I’ve ever lived, this one…this very last one is my favorite. Because in this last moment staring at the kitten, it’s the end, the very end, my last life, and all I can feel is love. All I could do was purr. And I loved and purred until I couldn’t anymore.

CHAPTER 6

My name is Ricky, and it’s been a damn long 5 years since Dicky pulled me out of the fire. Only mom, uncle Morpheus, auntie Kit, and I survived that night. Dicky saved all the cats in town in a way. Lot of good it did, though. Been goddam anarchy ever since.

You see, half the cats in town were under McClaw’s feral influence. When Dicky killed him, it severed that control he had over their minds. My mom, uncle Morpheus, and auntie Kit tried their best to tell the others about the events that took place and establish some kind of unification of cats within town, but it was no use. Winters had no Lion, and a power grab ensued. Lies and gossip spread like a wildfire. Radical ideologies sprouted in cats’ minds, dividing friends and family alike. The Ragdolls and Tabbies were no more. They fractured into smaller factions out of what remained and claimed their own Lions. Fucking cats, I tell ya.

There were five factions total. Six if you count mom, uncle Morpheus, auntie Kit, and I. We were exiled by everyone, forced to the outskirts of town by cats my mom and the others once trusted. I never knew the comfort of a house nor a human’s touch. I grew up on the move. Roaming the hills and orchards on the countryside.

They all raised me in their own way. Auntie Kit taught me to be a shadow (even with a missing paw she was more agile than all of us). Uncle Morpheus, how to fight. Mom, how to lead. Just us four together, each of them taking turns carrying me by my scruff the first few months. I almost died a couple times, but my guardians were always there to save me. They were my light, my guides through life, my teachers, my family. We struggled to survive together and that forged an unbreakable bond between us – especially with mom.

We’d go out on night strolls when the others were asleep. She’d tell me about her past lives and teach me things she didn’t want the others knowing about. For her, knowing how to fight wasn’t enough. She showed me how to kill, how to push through the threshold that keeps us from doing so. A mental sort of training for something that should never be enjoyed, only used when necessary. She had interesting philosophies on it too. Like knowing how many lives a cat has left before ending them. There’s a lot to consider, but I never thought I’d really have to kill something other than for hunting. I was wrong.

When I was one…a human drove a jeep through the hills at night. We were all sleeping in a hollowed-out log and heard the commotion. Mom and the others went out to investigate. I could see them standing outside the circle of the log. That’s when a blinding light swallowed them. I poked my head out of a small hole on the side. The light poured from the jeep, then I heard BANG, BANG, BANG!

I fell backwards, ears ringing, and heard muffled laughter from the human. I ran to the others, but they just laid there with growing red puddles under them. I felt nothing at first, then a burst of heat and emotion throughout my body. My eyes turned black, I saw tunnel vision, consumed with a feeling of invincibility and savagery. It fueled my rage, my hatred. I could taste the bloodlust dripping from my tongue.

I remember staring into the spotlight and not wincing. It reflected no red from my eyes. The human was too busy drinking from a flask to notice me. My movements were silent. I floated over the dead grass like wind and the world slowed down around me. In mid-air, I recall uncle Morpheus talking about humans and something called a…jugular artery. The killer finally looks over, but I’m gone from sight.

I remember hearing his gasp. Then he slumped right, blood pouring from his neck, and saw me staring back at him from the passenger seat. You see, I have a pretty big dew claw on my right paw. Two inches long, translucent, covered in blood, and it was the first time I’d used it to kill something. There was no hesitation either. Mom’s lessons had become instinct. Now, I’d killed a human. Not sure how many cats could say that.

He gurgled a little, slumped further down, and lost consciousness. I leapt off his back and out of the jeep. I still felt ravenous, looked up, and ran towards the dead bodies.

I stared down at them. Their bodies curled inwards towards one another. Wind spread the smell of blood through the air. It was divine, but I froze when I felt a presence. I heard whispering. It was somehow…familiar, like the awakening of a dormant instinct. A knowing and confidence that I was in control. It reminded me of who I was and pulled me back from the feral side that’d consumed me. My eyes returned to normal, and when the present moment returned to me…my heart broke. The loss that’d just occurred flooded my emotions and I wept. I laid there, shattered on the ground. I cried throughout the night as their blood seeped into my silver, black fur.

I rose with the sun, but the others didn’t. I nuzzled my head against my mother’s, then auntie Kit’s, then uncle Morpheus’. None of them moved. Had to be sure it wasn’t a dream.

I dug them each a grave and said my goodbye’s. It was the last death for my mother. I was only just getting to know her. She was as fierce as any tomcat, led cats in war…she deserved a better death. I just wish I could’ve have killed that human again and again, but it wouldn’t have changed a thing nor the fact I was now on my own.

The last tear dropped from my eye and was consumed by the dust. I turned my back to the human, the graves, the town, and left my childhood behind me.

I wondered aimlessly the next day. Turning on a whim, not really caring where I’d end up. At sunset I finally found a place to sleep near a creek bed.

Exhausted as I was, I couldn’t sleep. My mind replayed what’d happened the night before without my consent. It was hell. I just tried to focus on the stars above. Clear as I’d ever seen them. Then I heard the whispers again, the same familiarity. My legs turned me over and walked me to the water without my consent either. I looked into the water. The moon and universe reflected behind my head, but when I looked into my eyes, I saw him. It was Dicky.

My mind rushed to my first night of life. I could almost smell the smoke. I saw Dicky’s green eyes again as I looked at my own reflection. Our minds and souls connected through that gaze, transcending time and space.

You see, I was able to feel his emotions, his experiences, his lives, his wisdom, his arrogance. His presence was inviting, and the more I stared at the emerald-green eyes, the more I felt I knew him.

He blinked, his eyes turned black, and so did mine. I shivered-off the initial rush of adrenaline. There was no urge to kill, no bloodlust, just a calm resonating throughout my body while I tried to catch my breath.

His lives, experiences, and deaths passing through me emanated comprehension and knowledge. My body attempted to move, and break free a couple times, but Dicky would not let me go. His gaze kept me grounded and trapped my feral side. Dicky’s eyes flashed back to green, mine to blue. Back to black. Then to blue as easily feeling my emotions rising and falling each time. I could control it.

I turned my eyes black once more. I stared into them and made something of an…agreement with my feral side. One would never suppress the other. We’re one in the same after all, and there was no way I was going to survive out here without going a little…wild. My eyes returned blue, and where there used to be uncontrolled, raw emotion was only balance.

The experience was an umbrella in a storm of grief. My reason for being became based solely based on survival, and focusing on survival kept my mind from the hurt. So I survived, and got damn good at it.

Part of Dicky was now a part of me. Night after night I’d focus on the stars and see him. His presence kept me company and I could feel his instincts guiding my reflexes and movement. His memories and experiences were as familiar as my own, and I learned from them. I even used them to kill a cayote once. I think Dicky got killed by a coyote in a past life, but his memory was a little blurry. Probably wanted to block it out.

I’ve been surviving in the wild for the last four years now. Couldn’t say whether I was myself or feral more in that time. Don’t care, honestly. All that mattered was that I was alive.

One day when I was visiting mom, Kit, and Morpheus, I noticed a dirt cloud looming over the hillside. A truck sped over the horizon and toward me. They skidded around the corner at the base of the hill I was atop and tossed a paper bag out of the window. It landed where the Jeep was the night I killed the human.

The truck disappeared in a cloud of dust. I was about to leave when I noticed the bag moving. Cats were in there; my whiskers could feel it. I ran to the bag and peaked into it. Looking back at me were two kittens. A male Ragdoll and a female Tabby. No more than a month old each, but my instincts were screaming. I knew them. You see, after cats die, we never know where or when we’ll be reborn for our next life. My mom used to say destiny would determine that. It’s what kept her and Dicky in Winters for nine lives. If that’s true, then destiny just tossed auntie Kit and uncle Morpheus out of a window and back into my life. Fucking cats, I tell ya.

I bit down on one scruff at a time and tossed the kittens on my back (something I learned from a possum in my time in the country). They squirmed on my back and squeaked weak ‘meeews’ as I walked up the hill. I was going back into the country, back to surviving, but as I passed mom’s grave, I heard something.

The midsummer sun blazed down on me, its heat amplified by the ambient buzzing of cicadas. That’s not what froze me, however, it was a ‘jingle, jingle.’ I hadn’t heard mom’s collar bell in years. Maybe it rang from her nearby grave, or from one of Dicky’s memories. Either way, I couldn’t move. I could just feel the kittens on my back and the knot in my gut telling me I was going the wrong way.

I turned towards Winters and knew I had to go back. Dicky’s and my mother’s pride seeped into me. The pride of leaders. Their sense of duty became my own. The kittens on my back needed a safe place to grow up, the lifetimes of work my mother put into that town needed to be restored. Winters needed a Lion, and as I moved forward one paw at a time, I felt the knot in my gut unravel. I was walking in the right direction.

After waiting on the outskirts for hours, I walked into town at the cat’s hour. The place had changed a little from what I could surmise from Dicky’s memories. I made it to Grant and walked down the yellow lines in the middle of the street.

I could only hope the gazebo at Rotary Park was still a common ground for cats of opposing factions to parlay. Cats began to follow me, some stray, discolored Ragdoll with two kittens on his back. A few at first, then clusters filled the sidewalks. My whiskers told me they numbered in the dozens, and were all anxious. Maybe it was my dewclaw that had their fur-on-end. None of it mattered though, all I needed were their leaders and a chance to speak.

Not a single human vehicle was out that night. All was quiet save for the frog croaks pouring in from the creek bordering the town. I held a stoic demeanor to mask my fear and the adrenaline coursing through my veins. I reached the gazebo and made it over the steps in one hop – and without losing a kitten. The concrete was warm under my paws. It soothed my nerves as I sat in the center of the octangular base and waited.

“And just what in the hell do you think you’re doing here?” A dirty, orange cat said from behind. He walked to my front as the other cats made themselves comfortable on the gazebo’s railings. “This place is for faction leader meetings. Dignified cats, dammit, not filthy strays like you. Unless you want to lose one of your nine, I suggest putting your tail between your legs and getting the out of town.”

“I want to talk to the five faction leaders. Now,” I said looking through the cat. “Fetch them for me.”

The cats snicker behind the mangy, putrid-smelling cat before me. He turned and dragged his tail across my face in a taunting manner. I almost gagged. “Fetch them for you?” He laughed. “And why would I do that when I could skin you and your kittens alive right here and now? I think that’d be more fun.”

I caught his gaze and made him watch my blue eyes dissolve into darkness. “Because…” I spoke slowly, deliberately, and in complete control. My whiskers sensed the fear take hold of the cat. Good. It was nice seeing that stupid look on his face turn scared. “The Lion of Winters told you to.” My eyes returned to their sapphire blue and the cat scurried away without protest.

“Now we wait,” I turned back to the kittens. Auntie Kit and uncle Morpheus squirmed about weak and helpless. Their presence filled me with nostalgia, and the confidence they instilled in me as a youngster was reawakened! Although they couldn’t help me, at least they were with me and that was enough. “I missed you guys.”

Auntie Kit sneezed on me. I just smiled and panned my head around the railings. We were surrounded by a vibrant ring of cat eyes, each glittering like neon-gems within their dark silhouettes. Beautiful as they were, they reminded me there was no turning back. We were either going to live or die that night.

CHAPTER 7

An hour later a swarm of cats rolled in from the far side of the park. Looked like damn near every cat in town. The swarm got closer, then opened up around the gazebo and let five cats through. They walked up the steps and sat in a staggard line in front of me.

Left to right were a Birman, a British Shorthair, a Balinese, a Burmese, and a Snowshoe. Each were fat and reeked of comfort. These ‘Lions’ were nothing more than flealess, pampered housecats. Reliant on humans for everything, unscarred by experience. Profiteers of circumstance who waited for the strongest cats to die to seize power. My mom and Dicky would’ve been so disappointed seeing what became of their town.

“Who is this…outsider that beckons us?” The Burmese spat, probably upset he had to be woken up at the cat’s hour.

“I am Ricky, son of Mittens and…” I collect myself before admitting a truth I’ve shunned for years. It was the worst of me, something my mother never outright told me, but I knew who my father was. Didn’t take a genius to figure out where I inherited the freakishly large dew claw from. But that part of me needed to be accepted, like my feral side, or it’d weigh me down. “…Tim McClaw.”

The cats shuddered and hissed at the name.

“And why would we let a traitorous freak like you take another breath in this sacred place? You, a creature with blood laden of tyranny and trickery in its veins.” Scoffed the shorthair.

The blood they spoke of was running hot. I felt my feral side growing restless, like a beast walking side to side in a cage of my flesh, fur, and bones. My paws clench and my dewclaw cracked the concrete beneath me.

“I am not the mad cat that controlled your minds five years ago. I am NOT my father, but I am my mother’s son. She who led you, she who bled for you. She killed Dicky when he could not be stopped, or have you forgotten?” I said loud enough for all to hear. “My mother sought for peace after that. She wanted to dissolve the Rags and Tabs and boarders. She wanted a unified Winters and what has it turned into? A fucking grave for the pride that used to live here.”

“Your mother was a power-hungry whore who clearly disobeyed the border laws of old if she gave birth to a bastard cat like you. Laying with the likes of McClaw…ha!” the Snowshoe inserted. “She managed to kill her competition and thought she’d be the sole Lion of Winters.”

“You’re just lucky we were merciful and only exiled her after her coup,” said the Birman. “And Winters is lucky us five Lions ended her corruptive scheming. Because of our valor, the town was saved from the likes of her and Dicky. Because of our intelligence, we have achieved the peace they could not. And you are nothing but a last, pathetic vestige of their tyranny. This is the age of the Five Lions you fool! Our divine leadership is beyond reproach.”

I looked at the ring of cat eyes again, then at the cats outside the gazebo draped in moonlight. My whiskers twitched. How could I have not sensed it before? They were starving and scared and so…young. Many must have been killed by these faction leaders and their loyalists, yet nature saw fit to rebirth them in the same, cruel place that’d enslaved them. I didn’t know cats could live in such fear. It’s against our nature.

“You’re no leaders, and this is not peace. You shepherd fearful cats who’ve never been given a chance to see how strong and capable they really are,” I said raising to all fours. “I’ve come to show them…by challenging all of your claims to leadership by the way of the claw. There can only be one Lion of Winters, and you’re looking at him.”

The Five laughed at me. I sensed their apprehension and hatred for me. The feeling was mutual, save for the apprehension. Rather, a strange sense of belonging dragged its fingers along my soul. I was right where I was supposed to be, where I was destined to be at that very moment. Like all the cats watching me. Maybe they were sent back for a reason, to be here and now to witness this.

“A challenge, aye? You embodied the curiosity of a feline, Ricky, and for that I commend you,” said the Burmese “As entertaining as you’ve been, I’m afraid your life will be a necessary sacrifice to show the town’s cats what happens to disrupters of the Five’s peace. Fear not, this death will be a learning lesson for you to dwell on in your next life. However, it will not be quick. Takes away from the strength of the lesson.”

The Five remained still while fifteen of their lackies trotted into the gazebo. They looked mean, just like they were supposed to. All sure of themselves and their ability to tear me to shreds. Every cat watching knew once claws met, the challenge must be seen through to the bitter end. I made sure to size each of them up as they surrounded me.

“Before you try to kill me. I’m asking for one cat to assist me. I need one to mind these kittens while I fight,” it was a risk to ask, I knew, but it was a way to get these others on my side. A step away from fear. All would be represented by the act of one. Just an ordinary cat, one of the masses to step up and do this small part. An act of defiance the rest can live vicariously through. Of course they’d have to trust me with their life as well. The Five waited, delighting in the silence until…

“I’ll watch over them,” a voice shouted from the crowd outside the gazebo. Behind it jumped a Blue Russian through the rails. He was skin and bone, I could feel his ribs dragging across my face as he greeted in body language. It was a message. The town’s cats were frail like him, abused and starved by their leaders’ imposed tributes. “My name is Twinkie. I was…am loyal to your mother. As I will be to you, my Lion. You…look like her.”

I bowed my head. ‘My Lion.’ The notion sounds foreign to me, but I knew I’d have to get used to hearing it. “Thank you,” I said. He could be trusted; Dicky’s memories radiated a warmth towards the Blue Russian. He hoisted the kittens on his back and stared at me, eyes sullen and sunken and desperate. “Please…don’t fail,” he muttered as he walked away.

The surrounding cats of black and grey pounced at once. Their claws sought fur and flesh and found nothing. “Where the hell did he go?” The Snowshoe said. The fat cats were on all fours now. Their heads twisted aimlessly all around them, trusting no senses or instincts, only desperate eyes that hoped the dim fluorescent light would reveal me. Idiots.

“You’ll see me coming…don’t worry,” I said, my voice echoing from every corner of the gazebo. The cats in the center scatter and swiped at the echoes and shadows. Fear begets desperation, and desperation looks good on no one - especially cats. They deserved to die with more dignity in which they lived. “If any of you have a feral side, now’s the time.”

Clarity and focus flooded my senses. Hypersensitive to all things around me, feeling the vibrations of every cat’s heartbeat in the park. I wasn’t just tapping into my feral nature, I was nature. I was unstoppable.

They never saw me hidden in the darkness up the northernmost pillar of the gazebo. My dewclaw dug securely in the wood holding me eight feet above them. I released and let the fluorescent light glint off my father’s attribute as I fell. It caught their attention – not one heeded my advice to go feral. Before they could react, I pushed off the pillar with my back legs and rushed towards my enemies at a blinding speed.

My strobed movements were sudden, deadly, and only perceptible by the ‘ssssew’ noise my dew claw made before slashing through fur. When fear took them, I was able to hide in the darkness of their minds and reappear wherever I wanted and kill whenever I wanted. It was no longer a fight. I was a living nightmare they’d only wake from in their next life.

You see, what mattered wasn’t the fact that I killed the Five and their lackies. What mattered was how. They did not die by my wrath, but by my will. The cats that witnessed saw what I wanted them to see. A destined dismantling of the ruling powers. It was poetic even, my dance of death. Quick and merciful too. It took no more than a minute to finish the deed.

Killing can get nasty, brutish even. A drawn out, undignified passage to the eternal tenth life. I saw to it the cats trapped in the gazebo with me met their ends well. At the same time, leaving no question in the minds of my new subjects that there was even a chance I could be defeated by those who oppose me. I would never have to remind them of what I’m capable of. The memory of me turning 20 cats into corpses burned into their minds would suffice. In years to come, I’m sure storytellers will embellish the number of cats I fought too.

I even wish the cats I killed all reincarnate in Winters. Sometimes it takes a life or two to change one’s soul. That’s something humans just don’t understand. They think it all ends at life one. Funny how much you learn by observing and listening to those bipedals.

It’s been five months since I returned to Winters and became its Lion. Leadership is a pain in the ass, but mom said it’d be like that. Auntie Kit and uncle Morpheus are a little older now and are helping me out when they can. Twinkie too. They’re my counselors in all this, picking up where they left off in their life teachings. The past guiding the present into a brighter future.

The cats are all healthier and eating regularly since I eradicated tributes. I see no fear in their eyes when they look at me, only a thankfulness when I come to visit their neighborhood to check on them and their humans. Fear is never something I’d want to see in my subjects, only my enemies, and I haven’t seen enemies since the gazebo.

Sometimes there’s conflict with peaceful resolutions, and sometimes there’s conflict cats just need to settle with claws. In these cases, I watch over the scrap and make sure no one is killed. When their hatred is expelled, the two parties agree to the one and only mandate of my leadership…and that’s a post-fight nuzzle. It’s a sign of good faith that the conflict is resolved and left in that moment while we all move forward.

Strays are welcome in my Winters too. They can live their nine any way they see fit so long as it doesn’t encroach on others’ way of life. There’s only been a few issues with strays, but most of the time Winters’ cats resolve those issues themselves. You see, I’ve given them the autonomy to do so. They’re confident in their abilities to resolve issues peacefully because they know I trust them, and they me. It’s a sprouting trust to be sure, but every day that passes and every situation I let them handle only makes it stronger. I’m proud of them and their ability to rule themselves. Makes my job a whole hell of a lot easier too.

A cat can even go feral if they want. I just send them out to the countryside for them to experience it. I call it a ‘Dicky retreat.’ Clever, right? I’ll seek them out after a month or so. Most of the time they’re dead. If not, they attack me, but it’s good practice dodging them so I play around a little before I poke them with my dewclaw.

I don’t have to plunge it into their heads like my psychotic father. I bring them back from being feral from anywhere my dewclaw pierces their body. When they come to, they’re given a choice. Stay feral or come back.

That’s the way it is in my Winters, a cat will always have a choice. And whatever it is, it will be respected. Respect can’t be made into a law or mandated, it’s a shared mindset that needs to be cultivated and practiced often. Lest we forget what it is and the collective sanity it instills.

Most nights I do what I’m doing now, leading a group of cats out for a night prowl in the countryside. This is where I teach cats what I was taught: Self-defense, hunting, stealth, the ways of nature. They learn how to fail, they learn resolve, they learn about confidence in themselves and their capabilities. Most importantly, they learn about the past, present, and future…through stories.

On nights like this, when the stars are brightest in the infinite dark of night, even the crickets know to be silent. I read the constellations like words in a book, and Dicky speaks them through me, for the stories I tell are of his nine. He lives only in memory, yet his experiences and teachings are listened to by all and live on. That’s part of the eternal tenth life of a cat. The emotional presence within those still living.

My groups learn a lot from Dicky. Every life with its own experience, its own story. The beginning of my story was the end of his last. Tonight, however, I have a new batch of youngsters, and he’s telling his first story again. They all begin the same way too. I read, and he speaks: “My name is Dicky, and I’m on life one.”